


When Farz Met Strade

by StillTicksAway



Category: This Is Not Romance (Webcomic)
Genre: Blood, Gen, Torture, hello naughty children it's murder time, rather mild as far as Strade goes tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-19 00:39:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8182289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StillTicksAway/pseuds/StillTicksAway
Summary: AU in which Sid is possessed by Strade, instead of Farz being possessed by Raven.  Strade has promised Sid that he won't kill Farz, and Strade is really looking forward to properly meeting him.  Heavily inspired by Gatobob's art for that AU.





	

i.

Farz wasn’t surprised to find Sid knocking on his door, but his appearance was unusual. There were some impressive circles under his eyes, and his smile had an edge of being forced. He was happy to see Farz, certainly. He always was. But there was relief in that smile. 

”Heyyyy, Farz. I brought dinner!” He held up the plastic bag. It was at that point when Sid would walk in. But he hesitated, waiting a beat before walking in. 

”What happened?” Farz asked, skeptically. There was usually some catch with Sid. Or at least, he would crack something about “buying you dinner” and what came after. Joking, of course. Well, joking but also offering.

”Happened? Can’t I just get food some time, want to eat it with my best….host?”

Farz frowned. “What’d you get?”

Sid was already downing some kind of pasta thing with veggies on the side. Farz opened the remaining styrofoam box, and found the same thing in his.

“Eat your vegetables,” Sid said, his smile the usual playful one. For it moment, it felt normal. Between bites, Sid asked, ”Can I crash here tonight?”

”Like you wouldn’t anyways,” Farz said, unamused. Here came the follow up about crashing in Farz’s bed. With him. It would be as subtle as a brick to the face. 

“Your couch is comfortable. I think it missed me.” Sid tried to say it casually, but it came out pleading, scared.

Farz looked up, and narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “My…couch?” “Yeah. We’re becoming best friends, me and this couch.” Sid looked back down to his food. He sounded so tired.

“Do I want to know?” Farz asked. He didn’t. He really didn’t. But his couch, yeah, Sid could have that. He would take it anyway. 

Sid looked up, grinning widely. The change was startling. Farz jumped, gripping his plastic fork. “Know what?” Sid asked. His tone was off. Lighter than usual, and much lighter than it had been before.

“Uhh, whatever it is that’s bothering you?” 

”Nothing’s bothering me, buddy. Just long nights. Everyone has them sometimes.” He closed the empty take-out box, and shoved it into a nearby trash bag. “In fact, I think I’ll be nodding off now. Don’t mind me.” He stretched out on the couch, then turned his back from Farz. He didn’t move as Farz finished eating his food. Before heading off for his nightshift, Farz leaned over Sid and checked to make sure he was still breathing. And he was. 

By the time Farz got back, tired and wanting a shower, Sid was gone.

It was a while before Farz saw Sid again.

ii.

Sid was staring down at BBQ. His body, at least. He had been nailed to the ground by his fingers nails, and lacerations were carved deeply into his back muscles. 

Sid looked down at the knife still in his hand, and dropped it. His pants were undone. He reached for his belt, gripped it, and upon realizing how filthy they were, pulled his sticky, bloody hands up into view. They were his hands. His hands had done this. And worse. The random client or stranger was different, still bad, but different. This was a friend. 

”Welcome home!” said the cheery voice of Strade. “You wanted a new place to stay, and here we are.”

It was something Sid had been after for a while: a place of his own. But this was a gross interpretation of that desire, which Strade knew.

”Did it have to be BBQ?” Sid asked, tired and sick. He turned away from the body to face Strade. The ghost’s hands were also bloody, his pants also undone. Sid flinched away when he saw Strade’s blood covered dick and matted public hair, knowing it mirrored his own appearance.

Without waiting for an answer, Sid kicked off his clothes, and peeled off his shirt, leaving a trail of clothes to the bathroom. He left blood on the doorknob and the light switch, and the shower handle. The water was cold when he got in, and this did nothing to bring him properly back into his body. The temperature slowly crept up until it was scolding hot. After a few minutes or so of that, Sid reached for a bar of soap. He lathered and washed and scrubbed and lathered and washed and scrubbed and lathered and washed and scrubbed.

He smelled like BBQ now, and he couldn’t figure out if that was better or worse than smelling like blood and sweat and spunk.

”You should thank me for the new home,” said Strade, from somewhere nearby. He was never far away, not since Sid had found that stupid collar-necklace. He didn’t even have to wear it anymore. Strade had already hooked himself deeply into Sid’s mind, and made it known that he was not letting go.

“You couldn’t have gotten rid of…the body?” Sid asked, just the smallest hint of edge in his voice. He had gotten tired of fighting back a while ago. But this had been different.

“Are you worried about being caught?” Strade asked, amused. “Oh, Buddy. I will. I just wanted you to know he wouldn’t be coming back, so there’s nothing to worry about.”

But Sid would have to clean up after. He always did. Strade was good at disposing of bodies, somehow. And Sid had gotten good at cleaning up blood, from carpet, clothes, bedding, and random surfaces. The first time it happened, he burned his clothes. But then it kept happening, but that many new clothes would be money not spent eating.

”Can you please get rid of the body?” There was a moment when Sid could only hear the sound of the shower. “Please.” He added again. Strade liked it when Sid said please. That had been a memorable lesson.

Sid felt dizzy. He put a hand to the wall, and tried to catch himself. 

And blinked.

And opened his eyes to his hand on his dick, and images of BBQ crying.

Retreating from his body meant reliving what Strade did to his once and former friend. Staying in his body meant feeling the fresh blood and dirt and sweat on his skin. Strade had gotten rid of the body then. And then some. And was kind enough to bring Sid right back to the shower, with the hot water running.

Sid walked the balancing act of being in his body and not being in his body until Strade finished getting off, and retreated completely. Then, with shaking hands, Sid reached for the bar of soap again.

iii.

Sid had decided to stay away from Farz. It would make it easier to protect him. Farz was his friend, but begrudgingly. If Sid stayed away, then Farz might even forget him. 

He was ordering some dinner from that Thai place he liked, a number 7 with a spiciness of 3, when Strade took over for a few seconds. Sid felt his mouth move all on its own, announcing, “Better make that two 7s. But have the second one a spiciness 1. I forgot I was seeing a friend tonight.”

Strade slipped back out of Sid’s body just long enough for Sid to shakily pay. And then Strade took over again to walk back to what had been BBQ’s apartment with a spring in his step. “Aren’t you curious about who is coming over tonight?”

Sid was choosing to remain silent, hovering just behind his body, watching it walk, almost hoping it would just walk away from him completely.

“You haven’t seen anyone in a while,” said Strade. “I want to make sure you’re still having fun with life. I get to have fun. You should have fun too. That’s fair, right?”

When Sid still didn’t respond, Strade added, an edge in his voice, ”Not even going to guess, huh? Maybe you don’t want any company.” He took out Sid’s phone, and opened his texts. Sid saw an on-going conversation Strade had been having with Farz on the screen.

Strade typed into the screen: **You still coming over for dinner? My new apartment’s all ready to entertain.**

Farz responded rather quickly. The murderer was, apparently, better at getting a reply form Farz than Sid could. **As long as you’re feeding me.**

**You bet! See you soon.**

Strade put the take-out down on the kitchen countertops. “Still nothing to say? I guess I’ll have to play host for you.”

“No!” Sid protested, wanting to yell, wanting to stop Strade. But he couldn’t. Farz was going to be here, and Sid knew he had to appease Strade before then.

Strade was opening Sid’s food. “You know, I hadn’t had food like this until I met you. I like it. I wonder if that’s just because of this new body?” He took a bite, chewed swallowed. “I used to be a solider, you know? I was good at it. But there wasn’t time to be…” he took a bite to consider a word. “…intimate. You know, savor things.” 

Bite. Chew. Swallow.

Bite. Chew. Swallow.

“Please,” said Sid, quietly.

“What was that?” Strade asked

“Please. Thank you for tr—for being fair. For letting me see Farz.” He didn’t say “For not killing Farz.” 

Strade stopped eating, and his eyebrows, no Sid’s eyebrows (they were Sid’s, even if Strade was using them) turned up in their inner corners. “Should I let you see Farz though? You seem tired. Maybe it will be too much?”

“Please,” Sid said again. “And again: please.” Strade considered, and Sid said again, more desparately: “Please, Strade!”

“Since you asked so nicely. Hey, I’ll even leave you some food to eat with him.” Strade closed the take-out box, and put his fork down on top of it. 

“Thank you!” said Sid, relieved, and tired. Maybe Strade would give him a night to sleep.

There was quick, successive knock at the door. Strade, still in Sid’s body, turned to, and walked across the kitchen. He stopped when keys scrapped the lock. He took two steps back, and opened a drawer. Sid saw Strade’s hand then pass over a hammer and a knife. He reached for several coils of fishing wire.

It could be Farz instead, Sid told himself. It wasn’t Farz. It wasn’t Farz.

The lock slid out of place. Strade pocketed the wire, and walked into the front room as the door opened.

“Sid?” Fairy asked, confused.

“Fairy!” Strade said in his usual cheery tone after taking a second to extract the name from Sid.

“What are you doing here?” Fairy put his keys into his pockets, and closed the door behind him without turning around.

“Meeting a friend for dinner.” He was moving across the room with ease, relaxed. 

“Chet?” Fairy frowned. “Have you actually seen him? He hasn’t been into work for a couple days, and he didn’t call in, and he hasn’t been answering his—” as the list went on, Fairy started to gesticulate, eyes darting around the room like he expected Chet to jump out from somewhere. It was the kind of distraction that Strade used. He hooked a foot around Fairy’s knee, and shoved at his shoulder. With a twist, Fairy went down face first, his arms flung wild trying to catch himself. 

Strade pulled the fishing wire from his pocket. 

Sid was didn’t see how Strade managed to loop it around Fairy’s neck so quickly. He was trying to not be aware of what was going on. 

His arms were curled and taunt, his chest, his back, pulling up as Anthony clawed at his own throat.

He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to be here.

He could feel himself flush against Fairy, could feel his heart pounding. He was warm.

He didn’t want to be here.

Fairy’s skin was growing paler. And Sid could feel himself getting hard.

He didn’t want to be here.

He didn’t want it to be Fairy.

He just wanted it to stop.

From far away, Sid heard Strade say, “Hey buddy, it’s time to wake up.” 

And he was plunged into his body like he’d jumped into a pool, suddenly so aware of everything. He shivered once, and flexed his fingers. His left hand bent styrofoam. His right gripped a fork. 

“Sid?” That was Farz. That was Farz, and they were eating, sitting on the couch. 

“Sorry, really good food.” He shoveled a few bites into his mouth and chewed and swallowed quickly. “Go on.”

Farz rolled his eyes. “Like you even want to hear about my asshole customers. I don’t even want to deal with them.”

“Everyone wants to complain about their job. Was this during the night shifts? You start those?”

He had, which had caused the ill of customers to change from paying in only change, to trying to get him to throw away empty jugs of vodka or beer cans, or kicking over the speaker for not serving out the Drive Thru window to someone without a car. 

Farz was so humanly frustrated and grumpy that it let Sid relax. 

“Do you have work later tonight, or do you want to stay for a while? I’ve got all sorts of movies.” Well, they may as well have been his movies, at this point.

Farz thought about it for a second, then responded, cautiously, “What do you want to watch?”

“You’re the guest. You pick,” Sid said, giving a wide gesture. He eyed the forks, then took them and the two empty cartons to the kitchen, out of reach. When he came back, Farz was already setting up a DVD, fumbling a bit to figure out how the technology worked together. 

Sid sat down, leaning back onto one of the armrests. “What’d you pick?”

“Back to the Future II.” Farz finally got to the DVD home menu, and worked the controls on the box, as opposed to sorting through remotes, again. “You’re housesitting? Right?”

“What?” Sid sat up a bit straighter.

“This isn’t,” Sid gestured, “you.” He hit play, and then sat on the other end of the couch.

Sid frowned. “I guess you figured it out.” 

The night had been going so well. And then they got to the scene where Biff and Marty’s mom were married. And the interactions weren’t bad. They weren’t even that bad. But it was too familiar. And Sid had to leave. 

He blinked, and everything went black. 

iv. 

The night had been going so well. Sid hadn’t hit on Farz. He seemed to be tired, but alright? Apparently not though. 

Farz had gone to the bathroom. And there was someone in it. A dead someone. Shoved into the shower. Farz had stumbled backwards, and Sid was there. He’d grabbed Farz into a hold. If Farz could have acted first, he could have done something, but he was caught so quickly. And rage couldn’t beat size when you were already pinned. Farz knew that. He went down.

And woke up when he heard someone scream from the front room. He still in the bathroom. He tried to sit up, blinking, and discovered that his arms were tied behind his back, and then tied to the u-pipe under the sink. Nothing was under that sink, and the towels were missing. Even the body was gone. Had he imagined it? No. Obviously not.

“Oh hey Buddy, you’re awake,” said Sid, opening the bathroom door. His voice was light and cheery. Not amused. Farz expected Sid to be amused. The screaming from the front room was more audible. It was accompanied by scary music: a movie. There was a rev of a chainsaw and more screaming, with splatter sound effects. Sid closed the door, and Farz could only hear the muffled screaming again.

Farz tugged on the rope behind him, and it held strong. “Sid, I—I didn’t see anything! I won’t tell anyone!” he tried.

Sid frowned, looking down at Farz. “It can’t be both. Hey now you don’t want to hurt yourself.” Farz was trying very hard to free his hands. “I wanted to talk. It doesn’t seem right that we’ve known each other for so long, but I haven’t introduced myself.” Farz’s eyes looked over the room, hoping he could see something, anything he could use to defend himself. 

“Hey!” said Sid angrily. He kicked Farz hard enough to flip Farz over. His face hit the tile, and he tasted blood. Then Sid was hauling him up but his hair, and propped him up against the shower door. “You alright there?” His voice was light and friendly again. “You weren’t listening. I told you I wanted to talk.”

“I told you I wouldn’t talk!” The hand on his hair tightened, and Farz stopped trying to summon excuses. 

He looked at Sid. His eyes were glowing, and his eyebrows drawn together in anger, his nostrils flared. The hand on Farz’s hair let go, and he slept backward.

Sid took a few steps back. He was smiling again. “Did you figure it out? You seem smart.”

“What’s wrong with your eyes, Sid?”

Sid frowned, and had a chuckle. “So close, and yet so far. The name’s Strade. Sid and I have an arrangement. I get his body,” he put a hand to his chest, “sometimes, and I don’t kill you.” He pulled out a bowie knife from his hip, and Farz started to struggle again. His wrists were burning. Sid crossed the bathroom. Farz tried to kick him, and Sid stomped down on his leg where he’d previously kicked Farz. Farz gasped in pain, and Sid smiled. Then Farz tried to kick him with his free foot, and Sid stomped down on the same leg, same spot, harder. It was then the fight left Farz, and he sagged weakly. Sid knelt between Sid ‘s legs, and pulled him up by his hair again. 

“What is my name?” he asked, in that light voice. 

“Sid, please,” Farz croaked. 

“No.” He pivoted Farz’s head until they locked eyes with one another. “Do you really think your friend would do this to you? He loves you, you know? You were the one we agreed I wouldn’t kill.” The bowie knife came up, and Farz closed his eyes. There was a ripping sound, and Farz felt the knife break skin as his shirt was cut away. 

“What is my name?”

“Strade?”

“Nice to finally meet you, Farz.” Sid, no Strade smiled, and sheathed the knife. His fingers smeared the blood around Farz’s cuts, and Farz winced. “We’ve talked before, in person, briefly. But we’ve been texting for longer. Since that last night you ate with Sid. He thought that if he didn’t talk to you, he could keep you safe.” 

Strade leaned back on his heels and sat up, he hooking a hand into the waistband at Farz’s hip, and pulling him up. The knife was out again, and Strade repeated his actions, cutting away Farz’s pants messily, opening skin as he went. He threw the shredded clothing away, paused, then pressed the knife into a cut on Farz’s shoulder, firmly and slowly.

Farz gritted his teeth as his eyes watered. He shut them tight. Then Strade sliced, and tears ran down Farz’s cheeks.

“Sid kept us apart for so long.” Press and slice. “I won’t kill you. I promised. But I need to know you won’t tell anyone. Or leave. If you left, Sid might do something he shouldn’t.” Strade hummed, and made a new cut across Farz’s tricep.

And Farz head-butted Strade. He’d missed Strade’s nose, and eye, landing just between the two of them, glancing off bone. The room swam as Farz’s head throbbed. He kicked blindly, making contact once, twice. And then he screamed as the knife cut deeply through his thigh. 

Strade was saying something. Farz couldn’t hear it. No, it was in some foreign language—he couldn’t understand it. Strade kept talking, his voice angry, grabbing Farz, around and on the cut, and pulling him across the bathroom, to the pile of torn clothing. Farz feebly struggled, and Strade shifted his grip, fingers digging into Farz’s leg down to the bone. Farz screamed again, and flopped over like a ragdoll when Strade let go. Strade rolled Farz’s hip on his side, the cut pointed toward the ceiling. Then there was pressure on the cut. Farz twitched once. Strade shoosed him in a tender way, and continued to bandage the cut with what remained of Farz’s clothes. 

“I told you I wouldn’t kill you. You didn’t believe me. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.” He brushed a hand gently over the bandages. 

Farz whined, tired. He didn’t have the energy to fight anymore, didn’t have the energy to worry about what could happen if he passed out.

Strade curled an arm around Farz’s wasit, then lifted him, and leaned over him, flush against his back.

It was oddly comforting. He wasn’t Sid, but he smelled like Sid. 

Then he felt Strade lean up just a bit, and then there was a dick rubbing against his ass. 

Farz’s heart pounded.

It hurt when Strade shoved himself in, burned. Farz sobbed quietly, too tired to do more, too tired to stop himself. Stradeexhaled a sign of relief and a groan on Farz’s neck. 

He said something in that foreign language, and rocked his hips. 

Farz’s vision tunneled.

Strade bit down where Farz’s neck met his shoulder, then ground his teeth down. Awareness started as pain in Farz’s soulder, then flashed down his body. His vision lightened, and he cried, clenched his teeth, and whimpered.

Strade rocked in, rocked in, and bottomed out, rocked in and out, all while grinding his teeth on Farz’s collarbone.

Farz sobbed.

And like that, a switch went off for Strade, and he pistoned hard and fast, his thrusts erratic and desperate. 

It felt like a small forever, the time it took for Strade to finish. He grunted, then moaned loudly, his mouth finally empty.

Farz crumbled to the tile, and just lay there. Tired, exhausted, and spent. In the next room over, he heard another scream.

v.

Strade had the first-aid kit ready, of course. He had planned for tonight to end this way, knew it would get here. That it had been building to this. That if he meet Farz properly then he would just kill him.

He didn’t bother asking Farz if he wanted to get patched up. He was too far gone to have an opinion, and Strade had promised Sid he wouldn’t kill Farz.

Strade opened the med kit, and looked over the damage. If Farz hadn’t kept fighting, he would be better off. But that had been a different kind of fun. Some of those needed stiches. Some would just need alcohol, gauze, and adhesive. He leaned over and lapped at a few of the cuts, tasting iron and salt. Farz whined, barely louder than an exhale. Not entirely unconscious. Still fighting then. 

Strade started with the ones that needed stiches. Farz has lost enough blood. He untied the clothes bandage form Farz’s thigh. It oozed. Strade did a line of stiches on the inside, the kind that would dissolve on their own, then another line for the skin. Then he moved on to the deeper cuts, the one’s he gone over a few times. He hummed as he worked, remembering. Once those were done, Strade poured rubbing alcohol over Farz. The smaller cuts were clotting, but they still needed to be cleaned, even Farz’s collarbone was spotted. Farz’s voice cracked. Strade smiled, waited a minute for the alcohol to dry, and then covered the stiches with bandages. 

He’d need antibiotics, Strade knew. If Strade only needed Farz to last for another couple of days…but no, it would be a while until he could kill Farz. One day, Sid could step over a line. One day, Strade would finally break Sid enough that the body would be Strade’s alone. Then, Strade would kill Farz. But today was not that day, so Farz would need antibiotics.

vi.

Sid woke up in BBQ’s bed. He could smell iron and salt, and was hugging warm body up against his stomach. Farz. He jumped back, and fell out of the bed, shaking, grasping for memories that were blank spaces in his mind.

He wanted to ask Strade what he’d done, wanted to demand to know what had happened, and never wanted to know. 

He was shaking.

“Tell me something only you would know?” Farz said from up on the bed. His back was facing Sid, his face toward the door. It was clear that Farz was tense and ready to run. Sid looked over the bandages he could see from where his was sitting on the ground, worried about those he knew he couldn’t see. He swallowed hard. “You probably haven’t cleaned your bathroom since you moved in. And you’re almost out of condiments. Because I ate them.”

“Stop eating all my food!” Farz said sharply, turning, catching his anger once his eyes met Sid’s tears filled ones. Sid was grinning. It was forced, but he was still grinning. Farz’s anger softened.

“So how long have you have a murder ghosts possessing you?”

“He only possesses me sometimes.” There was a pregnant silence, and Sid followed up with, “If you can leave town, you should.”

“I don’t think I can.”

“Ah. I was worried that might happen.” There was another pause. “I know it’s stupid to say, but I’m glad he didn’t kill you.”

“Can you put on some pants?” Farz asked.

Sid looked down at himself. Coming to naked wasn’t unusual for him, and hadn’t been for a while, even before Strade. Still he didn’t like what it implied. Sid looked away. “I’m gonna…shower.” 

He stood up, as Farz said loudly, and fearfully, “Bathroom!” Sid waited for something to be added to that, and Farz stumbled through, “It’ll be gross. It was where…” he trailed off and lifted his hands in the weakest of gestures. 

“Ah,” Sid responded again. As he left the bedroom, they both made a point of not looking at each other. 

Sid frowned at the stack of bathroom stuff outside of it, and opened the door to find the insides decorated in blood. It was kind of amazing that it wasn’t the site of a murder. But Strade had kept his promise. 

Sid was thankful BBQ had been the responsible one, what with the cleaning supplies at the ready. He found a roll of trash bags under the kitchen sink, and took out a roll of paper towels, and started cleaning, methodically, his brain on autopilot. Sometime later, he’d built up a sweat, and tied the bag off. Strade would take care of that. He always did. Sid put the bathroom back in order. Probably not the same order it had been before, but enough of an order that it didn’t feel like the same place where Strade had done whatever he’d done to Farz. This was enough to let Sid start that coveted shower. 

With a towel around his waist, he walked back in the bedroom slowly, cautiously. “Still you?” Farz asked from a burrito of blankets he had rolled himself in.

”Still me,” Sid said. “Strade’ll be out for a while. He usually is. After he…I’m sorry.”

”You didn’t do it.”

Sid didn’t want to debate that, didn’t want to rehash the same thing he’d had tried to comfort himself with several times over. “Do you want to go out and get something to eat?” The permission to leave and the question of if Farz wanted to were implied. Sid searched through the room for a cleaner pair of jeans, and put them on, waiting for an answer. When he didn’t receive one, he asked, “Farz?”

He’d gone back to sleep, apparently satisfied knowing that Sid was still Sid. Sid lay down on the other side of the bed, tired and spent, and ready to not be conscious for a while longer. He was surprised when Farz hugged him with one arm, and pushed his forehead to Sid’s back. “Still be you when I wake up. Then buy me food.” It was a request they both knew Sid had no control over.

”Sounds good,” Sid agreed. They stayed there like that for a while, listening to the sound of each other breathing, until their exhaustion caught both of them again, and they fell back to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> might come back and polish this later. Or not. Cheers.


End file.
